Welcome to Monday!
—Poetry by Joseph Nolan, Michael Ceraolo, Caschwa (Carl Schwartz)
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
PLAYING HOUSE
—Joseph Nolan
Let’s pretend that we got married,
So no good sex, anymore.
Sleeping side by side
Or in adjoining rooms,
So as not to wake each other,
Getting up to pee
In the night.
Burying our arguments
When we turn out the lights,
Rather than work them out
Horizontally,
On a long-suffering mattress,
That long-ago stopped its squeaking.
Would you call it happiness
Or apathy,
With everything else
Going on?
Surely, perspectives
Are subject to revision,
As thirst
In a desert
Causes
Mirages
To appear
Ever more real,
The more severe it gets.
Even regrets
May disappear,
Over time,
As memory
Forgets.
—Joseph Nolan
Let’s pretend that we got married,
So no good sex, anymore.
Sleeping side by side
Or in adjoining rooms,
So as not to wake each other,
Getting up to pee
In the night.
Burying our arguments
When we turn out the lights,
Rather than work them out
Horizontally,
On a long-suffering mattress,
That long-ago stopped its squeaking.
Would you call it happiness
Or apathy,
With everything else
Going on?
Surely, perspectives
Are subject to revision,
As thirst
In a desert
Causes
Mirages
To appear
Ever more real,
The more severe it gets.
Even regrets
May disappear,
Over time,
As memory
Forgets.
BEAUTIFUL EYES
—Joseph Nolan
Starlight twinkles
Down a shaded hallway,
Through softness,
In the darkness,
In a woman’s eyes.
How beautiful!
How brilliant!
How dear
And so sweet!
Nothing in this
World, compares.
A hunger
Your soul,
To eat!
—Joseph Nolan
Starlight twinkles
Down a shaded hallway,
Through softness,
In the darkness,
In a woman’s eyes.
How beautiful!
How brilliant!
How dear
And so sweet!
Nothing in this
World, compares.
A hunger
Your soul,
To eat!
THE WHISKY ON YOUR BREATH
—Joseph Nolan
There a place for everything
When everything is in place.
There’s a trace of everything,
Lingering in space,
Since time does not disappear.
It just goes backwards
And forwards
And time is ever-so near!
As near as your birth, your death,
The whisky I smell on your breath.
Your fate,
Too-soon-to-evaporate,
I fear,
But pray it’s not too late.
—Joseph Nolan
There a place for everything
When everything is in place.
There’s a trace of everything,
Lingering in space,
Since time does not disappear.
It just goes backwards
And forwards
And time is ever-so near!
As near as your birth, your death,
The whisky I smell on your breath.
Your fate,
Too-soon-to-evaporate,
I fear,
But pray it’s not too late.
DIMINISHING HOPES
—Joseph Nolan
Diminishing hopes
Are slippery slopes
Leading downward
To despair.
Each disappointment,
Another step down,
Into a darkened cellar
Where cool echoes
Fill the air:
“Is anyone there?”
—Joseph Nolan
Diminishing hopes
Are slippery slopes
Leading downward
To despair.
Each disappointment,
Another step down,
Into a darkened cellar
Where cool echoes
Fill the air:
“Is anyone there?”
TWO POEMS FROM DUGOUT ANTHOLOGY,
A Poetry Collection by Michael Ceraolo, S. Euclid, OH
Richard "Dicky" Kerr
Because of my small size,
it took several years of minor-league excellence
for me to finally make the majors,
but when I did I had success,
including those two World Series wins
you've read about or seen on-screen
(though I was actually left-handed, not right-)
Having leverage with the Black Sox suspended,
I held out before the 1921 season,
and Comiskey and Grabiner had little choice
but to pay me the higher salary,
though they grumbled about being taken advantage of
When before the next season I asked for a multi-year contract,
Grabiner refused to even negotiate with me
(you always dealt with Grabiner,
never sure if he was following Comiskey's orders
or taking the hardline on his own),
so I played for a Chicago semi-pro team
and was banned by Landis for almost four years;
when I was reinstated I didn't last long
Years later I made a big contribution to baseball:
while managing in the minors
I helped a struggling young pitcher greatly improve,
though I didn't think he would ever reach major-league caliber
I thought his hitting was major-league caliber,
so I played him in the outfield between starts
When he hurt his shoulder diving for a fly ball,
that effectively ended his career as a pitcher,
but Stan Musial proved my judgment about his hitting correct
* * *
Hub Pruett
Shucks, baseball is a great game
And one of the best things about it
is the mystery of when form doesn't hold;
I'll use myself as an example
In my first season, plus his first appearance
against me in my second season,
I struck out Babe Ruth ten times in thirteen at-bats;
he had only two hits in those at-bats, one a home run,
and in addition had three walks
If that wasn't in Ripley's Believe It or Not,
it should have been; I think that stat alone
probably kept me in the big leagues longer
than my pitching against all others warranted,
and that allowed me to put myself through medical school
The Babe did better against me after that beginning,
but I am eternally grateful to him
for my moment in the sun
A Poetry Collection by Michael Ceraolo, S. Euclid, OH
Richard "Dicky" Kerr
Because of my small size,
it took several years of minor-league excellence
for me to finally make the majors,
but when I did I had success,
including those two World Series wins
you've read about or seen on-screen
(though I was actually left-handed, not right-)
Having leverage with the Black Sox suspended,
I held out before the 1921 season,
and Comiskey and Grabiner had little choice
but to pay me the higher salary,
though they grumbled about being taken advantage of
When before the next season I asked for a multi-year contract,
Grabiner refused to even negotiate with me
(you always dealt with Grabiner,
never sure if he was following Comiskey's orders
or taking the hardline on his own),
so I played for a Chicago semi-pro team
and was banned by Landis for almost four years;
when I was reinstated I didn't last long
Years later I made a big contribution to baseball:
while managing in the minors
I helped a struggling young pitcher greatly improve,
though I didn't think he would ever reach major-league caliber
I thought his hitting was major-league caliber,
so I played him in the outfield between starts
When he hurt his shoulder diving for a fly ball,
that effectively ended his career as a pitcher,
but Stan Musial proved my judgment about his hitting correct
* * *
Hub Pruett
Shucks, baseball is a great game
And one of the best things about it
is the mystery of when form doesn't hold;
I'll use myself as an example
In my first season, plus his first appearance
against me in my second season,
I struck out Babe Ruth ten times in thirteen at-bats;
he had only two hits in those at-bats, one a home run,
and in addition had three walks
If that wasn't in Ripley's Believe It or Not,
it should have been; I think that stat alone
probably kept me in the big leagues longer
than my pitching against all others warranted,
and that allowed me to put myself through medical school
The Babe did better against me after that beginning,
but I am eternally grateful to him
for my moment in the sun
Al Capone's Cell, East Penitentiary
THEY CLING TO YOU
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
certifiably senior now, arthritis,
discounts, eh? and there are
traits from my earlier years still
hanging on like re-runs of black-
and-white TV shows
back when just a high school grad,
barely survived a motorcycle crash
that crushed my leg and ankle,
whole ball joint had to be rebuilt,
crutches for a year, still rely on my
“off” hand for muscle tasks, to
leave my dominant hand free for
fine motor activities
More recently had cataract surgery
in both eyes, and they put in plastic
lenses so there was no need to wear
corrective lenses to pass the DMV
eye test, but can’t stop myself from
correcting for it anyway because
60+ years of daily nearsightedness
leaves its mark
yesterday when out shopping, saw
a one-legged man enjoying the
outing with his 2 lively boys; he had
a prosthetic leg ending in a few metal
rods sufficing as an ankle. I counted
my blessings
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA
certifiably senior now, arthritis,
discounts, eh? and there are
traits from my earlier years still
hanging on like re-runs of black-
and-white TV shows
back when just a high school grad,
barely survived a motorcycle crash
that crushed my leg and ankle,
whole ball joint had to be rebuilt,
crutches for a year, still rely on my
“off” hand for muscle tasks, to
leave my dominant hand free for
fine motor activities
More recently had cataract surgery
in both eyes, and they put in plastic
lenses so there was no need to wear
corrective lenses to pass the DMV
eye test, but can’t stop myself from
correcting for it anyway because
60+ years of daily nearsightedness
leaves its mark
yesterday when out shopping, saw
a one-legged man enjoying the
outing with his 2 lively boys; he had
a prosthetic leg ending in a few metal
rods sufficing as an ankle. I counted
my blessings
Japanese Flying Squirrels
THE MEANING OF NOTHING
—Caschwa
my words alone
have zero meaning
like all the zeroes
in a seven-figure income
playing slide trombone
skipping over “arco”
passages like they
are smoke rings
drawing a great moan
each time one is told
to keep one’s affairs
in alphabetical order
poesy turning to stone
failed to fear the mirror
who’s the most beautiful
in all the land?
MAY POLE DANCERS
—Caschwa
they gather to consummate
the Month of May by
dancing around celibate
until someone whips out
their pole, and then…
they try all ways to stimulate
old hormones, revive them
from their coma, resuscitate
gray matter from dementia
keep that pole up there, gramps
feel that skin reverberate
just like in the good old days
too far back to calculate
virginity abandoned in a
cheap motel, DIY room service
flowers some can’t tolerate
allergies from just breathing
health care matters dominate
universal coverage stymied by
congressional May Pole dancers
the Month of May by
dancing around celibate
until someone whips out
their pole, and then…
they try all ways to stimulate
old hormones, revive them
from their coma, resuscitate
gray matter from dementia
keep that pole up there, gramps
feel that skin reverberate
just like in the good old days
too far back to calculate
virginity abandoned in a
cheap motel, DIY room service
flowers some can’t tolerate
allergies from just breathing
health care matters dominate
universal coverage stymied by
congressional May Pole dancers
IT MUST BE A FULL MOON
—Caschwa
(no connection to Franz Liszt, the philanthropist)
total strangers are asking me for money
they want me to trade in
items I have paid off
so they can buff up
their own revenue
streams on
new loans
HMM
Can I even afford to do that?
let me add up my assets:
prime income properties
exotic islands
luxury cars
yachts
gems
ZERO
Sure, I play Vegas-style solitaire on the computer
most game results put me in arrears
the few times I come out ahead
I get to view a hypothetical
black-ink winning total
that never actually
materializes as
spending
money
ZIP
but I would be most happy to support your worthy cause
once I am in that exclusive top bracket of billionaires,
just reach out to my team of lawyers, and
accountants, and gatekeepers, and
take careful notes of all the
terms and conditions,
and disclaimers,
and blah, blah
blah, blah
BLAH
Today’s LittleNip:
SHADOWS CHASING SHADOWS
—Joseph Nolan
Shadows
Chasing shadows,
Who disappear
In the light.
Bending
In the darkness,
To give you
Pleasure, bright,
Shadows
Chasing shadows,
Who scream
Into the night.
________________________
Here is another Monday, and our thanks to today’s contributors for starting off another week for us! Joseph Nolan sends us fine poetry and fine photos; Michael Ceraolo heralds the beginning of baseball season; and Carl Schwartz has done triple duty for us this weekend, starting with his poems on Form Fiddlers’ Friday, then his Mother’s Day poem yesterday, and now some other dandy ditties to kick off our week. Thanks to all of them!
•••Tonight at 7:30pm, the Sacramento Poetry Center presents Donna Spruijt-Metz and Luis Clerici at Socially Distant Verse online: us04web.zoom.us/j/7638733462. Facebook info: www.facebook.com/events/460343145198136/?ref=newsfeed/.
•••Thurs. 5/13, 7:30pm: Sac. Poetry Alliance presents To Remain in Perhaps: A Deeper Look at the Lyric Poem, an online Literary Lecture by Jennifer Sweeney. Host: Frank Dixon Graham. Zoom: us02web.zoom.us/. Facebook info: www.facebook.com/events/244410620805317/.
_____________________
—Medusa
SHADOWS CHASING SHADOWS
—Joseph Nolan
Shadows
Chasing shadows,
Who disappear
In the light.
Bending
In the darkness,
To give you
Pleasure, bright,
Shadows
Chasing shadows,
Who scream
Into the night.
________________________
Here is another Monday, and our thanks to today’s contributors for starting off another week for us! Joseph Nolan sends us fine poetry and fine photos; Michael Ceraolo heralds the beginning of baseball season; and Carl Schwartz has done triple duty for us this weekend, starting with his poems on Form Fiddlers’ Friday, then his Mother’s Day poem yesterday, and now some other dandy ditties to kick off our week. Thanks to all of them!
•••Tonight at 7:30pm, the Sacramento Poetry Center presents Donna Spruijt-Metz and Luis Clerici at Socially Distant Verse online: us04web.zoom.us/j/7638733462. Facebook info: www.facebook.com/events/460343145198136/?ref=newsfeed/.
•••Thurs. 5/13, 7:30pm: Sac. Poetry Alliance presents To Remain in Perhaps: A Deeper Look at the Lyric Poem, an online Literary Lecture by Jennifer Sweeney. Host: Frank Dixon Graham. Zoom: us02web.zoom.us/. Facebook info: www.facebook.com/events/244410620805317/.
_____________________
—Medusa
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world, including
that which was previously-published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world, including
that which was previously-published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
